Pens
by TintedElements
Summary: Written for a oneshot story prompt: What if Mikado was actually an assassin? - Written by AutzulFrost


"If you want to get away from your ordinary life, all you have to do is keep evolving!" There had been mirth in the man's eyes. A challenge to him, surely. It must be impossible, Mikado decided, to keep evolving. To keep _changing_.

But then again, that was never what he wanted.

He let the man play his little games, thinking he was the only one who _knew_. He'd always been letting _Kanra_ have her fun. All Mikado had wanted was exactly that, a _normal_ life. It looked like after years of being unseen, not even the man who supposedly knew it all could unravel him.

That sucked.

He shoved his hands in his pocket and made his way home. If he couldn't be ordinary, he at least wanted people to think he was ordinary. And apparently he'd succeeded.

Though he flinched a bit at the smooth texture of the pen in his left pocket. He'd forgotten it was there. Running his finger over it, he realized it was the first ever Mont Blanc he'd received. There were a myriad of memories associated with it, though none he'd ever bring up in a conversation with friends.

Mikado took his right hand out of his pocket as he reached his tiny one room apartment and pulled his key out along with it. Swiftly unlocking the door, he strode inside and took a deep breath, releasing it all in an equally deep sigh.

The pen in his pocket followed his left hand out and in front of his face. Carefully he looked his pen over and over and over. Satisfied that it was clean, he pulled out one of the floor boards and looked for this particular pen's case.

Though he kept many pens, he knew them inside out, even being able to tell their cases apart. He quickly retrieved the box he'd been looking for and put his precious weapon back inside. He couldn't let anyone see them; it wasn't everyday your classmate had a ton of pens none of which you'd ever even dream of writing with.

Feeling a bit of melancholy at the day's events, he decided to clean them. After all, it'd been such a long time since he'd felt them in his hands. The first one he pulled out was a Parker ballpoint pen. The grooves crossed forming squares that tickled his fingers lightly when running them over the surface.

Mikado grabbed a cloth and wiped at one of the intersections. Apparently he hadn't taken enough care cleaning this particular one the last time he'd used it. "The last time... When was that?" He mumbled aloud and vaguely remembered that this had been the last pen he had actually used.

Thinking back, it'd already been two years. Two years since he'd been able to escape his life in the shadows. Truthfully, the only reason he came to Ikebukuro was because Masaomi was here.

To him, Masaomi had been that bright light at the end of the tunnel, always waiting for him with a smile, even though he didn't know about the truth behind his longtime friend. It had bothered him greatly when his elementary school friend informed him that he'd be moving to Ikebukuro, but it also gave him a chance.

In the end it had taken him a whole year of careful planning and organizing to free himself. And still there had been too many deaths for his liking. This particular pen had been his choice for the final job. A somewhat fitting choice, he mused, seeing as it had been the first pen he'd got from his ex-boss.

Who'd had it stabbed in his brain as a farewell, but bloody past aside, he did like this pen.

Its mass was distributed evenly all over the pen's length and its weight was just right in his hands. Still felt just right, he corrected himself and twirled the pen at a high speed in circle after circle, his hand not tiring of the movement at all.

And just as abruptly as he'd started, he'd halted his movements, freezing the pen in perfect control in the middle of its descent. Flicking it once around his thumb, he gracefully slotted it back into its case.

Quickly he replaced the case and pulled out another, this one housing a whole bunch of similar looking pens. He looked at them lying innocently in their case as he remembered the first time he'd killed someone.

That was some time before he'd been scouted, when he was six if he remembered correctly. It had been a group of bullies. They'd been beating a brown-haired kid before Mikado had walked by and seen everything. It had taken him only a moment to know who the kid was.

Of course he would try to defend his friend, but he was much too weak for that. Having stood frozen to the spot, he had watched horror-stricken as the bullies beat Masaomi into unconsciousness before finally regaining his composure.

His only weapon at the time: His pens. The ones he'd received from his parents only a few days prior as a motivation to study hard. They'd have never thought that the multicoloured ballpoints would see themselves used as tools of murder.

But they had been and after realizing he'd just murdered three kids older than him, he'd collected his pens and run away. When he'd reached his home, he stashed them away in an old box, never intending to even look at them again, determined to forget about what had just happened.

Shortly after that, he'd come home from school one day to a house filled with strange men wearing black with sunglasses that hid their eyes and emotions from him. He'd been scared to say the least. Scared for his parents and scared for his future.

At that time, he had no choice. He had to join them. It was either that or have his parents killed and his murder revealed. After that, he'd received training for a year and although it was tough, Mikado viewed it as the calm before the storm that was half his life.

After that, he killed on a regular basis. And he hated how his parents were powerless to stop it. They feared for their own lives and he couldn't blame them for that. But they never once tried to comfort him. They left him alone to swallow his own guilt at the deaths.

That's why he was eternally grateful he'd saved Masaomi. Because he'd always had a cheerful face and his loud ramblings never failed to give Mikado more lighthearted things to think about during the day.

Though the pens were covered in blood, it didn't matter. He closed the box back and put it back with the rest.

A grimace settled on his face when he realized that his mind was wandering back to those days.

Wanting to leave behind his past, indeed... How could he honestly claim that when he still carried his pens around with him everywhere he went? He briefly wondered if it was fear of death that prevented him from laying down his weapons once and for all.

Then again, he'd never been really afraid of his own death. Only the deaths of those he cared about. Blinking, he realized that there was a case amongst the rest that shouldn't have been there. He pulled it out from the heap and opened it to reveal a blue coloured pen that could be found in any stationery shop.

In fact, the case didn't even belong to this pen, but he knew why it was in here. This was a pen that Masaomi had given him before the boy had left for Ikebukuro. He'd never misused this pen for purposes it was not intended though and couldn't remember how it got mixed in with the rest of those that had been.

He took it out and flipped it experimentally between his fingers. This was the pen he'd first spun around his fingers. His practice pen, so to speak. It had many dents and scratches from when it had escaped his grasp and clattered to the ground, but was still in good shape.

He remembered spinning this particular pen as he waited eagerly for the computer to arrive. His parents wouldn't talk to him and he was too afraid of making friends in his old school. The only one he really wanted to talk to was Masaomi. He needed that link and remembered fearing for his sanity at the time.

After having practically destroyed the entire organization, he was left with no one to talk to and had slowly been spiralling into a hole of dark thoughts. It had been a blessing to return to talking with his old friend then and it was as if the distance that physically separated them no longer existed.

And then he'd stupidly gone ahead and made the Dollars. At first it was a platform he used to get to know people he didn't actually know. A way for him to get more contact with normal everyday people.

Because he was scared that when he finally joined Raira Academy with his friend, Masaomi would no longer recognize him. That's why he had to try his best to 'return' to being as human as he could.

His heart clenched a bit when he thought back to how ruthless he had been. How inhuman. But really what bothered Mikado the most was that he could return to that state whenever he wanted. He knew he could and he wouldn't hesitate to if it involved saving his friend again.

Mikado grabbed his bag and put the pen into his regular pencil case he used for school work where the rest of his innocent writing tools waited. He shoved the floor board back in place, deciding he no longer wanted to see the blood stains tonight as their colour reminded him of the informant's slightly red, but definitely brown eyes.

It was ironic that the man had eyes the same colour as dried blood, considering he was the reason fresh blood was being spilled every day in this city full of life. Yes, Mikado liked Ikebukuro for its life and also for its colourful characters.

The many different people made him feel like he could be considered normal, just one among many. Keep evolving? Mikado snorted lightly.

He liked staying just the way he was, thank you very much.


End file.
